These are my new sunglasses. Do you love them? God damn it, I do. And how! They are my very first pair of real sunglasses, you must understand, and I understand how retarded that sounds, but, fuck you. I never got in the habit of wearing sunglasses, for reasons far beyond the grasp of common man. Okay, it’s because I’m too damn gay to wear sunglasses. I’m so damn gay that little things, like wearing sunglasses, push me right over the big gay edge. For me, wearing sunglasses is much like throwing a Molotov cocktail at a man on fire. It can take me from simply “gay” to Richard Simmons with a pussy gay….to Ryan Fucking Seacrest gay. (Shudder.) I might as well wear hoop earrings. Or a hoopskirt. Or hoop earrings wearing little hoopskirts—and then prance around with sperm dripping down my chin and Mark Finley riding piggyback on my shoulders. And that’s gay, child. Damn gay.

And all of this is quite tragic, because my life has been a life lived looking…down. My skin is whiter than God’s dentist’s apron, you see, and scientific studies have proved that my eyes are twice as sensitive as a drunken spinster on the rag. I squint and squint and squint, and in all of my wide and dusty travels (the Great Capitols! Far-flung and mysterious places!), all I mostly remember is one big gray sidewalk. Paris? I remember the sidewalk. Rome? The sidewalk. Amsterdam? Hookers, brownies, and the sidewalk. The sun just hates me too much. My fair little eyes can’t endure its merciless burn.

But now. Now! Oh, how things have changed!

Now I have these wonderful new sunglasses. I finally just broke down, gave up, gave in, and bought a pair—-“too gay” be damned!—-and what a miracle they turned out to be! I never take them off. Outside, inside, day, night, reading in the tub, boiling an artichoke, whatever. I even wear them to dark nightclubs and look like a totally pretentious cocksucking dickweed, but fuck you again. Maybe I want people to think I do more drugs than I do. (My eyes are suspiciously unclouded—it makes the hipsters nervous.) But I’m not here to justify anything. I’m here to talk about the clouds.

Why didn’t anybody tell me?

These wonderful sunglasses (bless them!) have opened up glorious new vistas for poor, watery-eyed little me—-they have introduced me to the sky, for one thing, and all sorts of really astonishing things I was never able to pay attention to before. Crazy shit is going on up there! What an astonishing thing it is to watch the relentless roil and boil of restless clouds, and how thrilling it is to watch a common airplane roar, chewing up the sky! And birds! They’re really up there, too! Swooping all over the damn place—-all kinds of them! Remarkable. I’m like a ten year old boy…amazed at common things, always looking up. It’s a whole new world.

Plus, sunglasses are secretly beer goggles. They bathe all of the world in bar lighting! Ergo, I want to make out with everyone. Everyone is at least ten percent hotter, and nobody has zits. And, ironically, I think I might even be a little…well…less gay when I wear the sunglasses, as they’ve allowed my gaze to drift high enough to really consider boobies for the first time. Interesting things, aren’t they? Boobies?

Oh, wonderful sunglasses! How I love them! Is there anything they can’t do?! I regret every moment that I was estranged from them. I’ll never take them off again.

Ever.